


Bad Things Happen Bingo: Internal Bleeding

by taylor_tut



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Gen, Good Brother Diego Hargreeves, Good Brother Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Whump, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Protective Diego Hargreeves, Protective Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Sick Character, Sick Klaus Hargreeves, Sickfic, Sober Klaus Hargreeves, Whump, internal bleeding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-10
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2020-01-10 20:16:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/pseuds/taylor_tut
Summary: A fic from my tumblr for the prompt "internal bleeding" for Klaus: Five kicks him in the stomach (partially as payback for punching him in the mouth lol) a little harder than he meant to and feels bad about it when Klaus ends up really injured.





	Bad Things Happen Bingo: Internal Bleeding

Klaus stumbled behind his brothers down the alley, trying and failing to keep up with the ridiculous pace that Luther and Diego were setting. Even Five, with his considerably shorter legs, was ahead of him. Klaus blamed the soreness in his ribs for his breathlessness and the queasiness in his stomach. 

“Guys, slow down,” Klaus complained. Five rolled his eyes. 

“Come on,” he jeered. “You’re all legs; you should be keeping up.” Klaus didn’t have the breath to reply fully, so he chose to shoot his younger brother a dramatic glare rather than saying anything. 

“You sound winded,” Diego accused. Klaus shrugged; Luther scoffed. 

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you smoke everything you can get your hands on.” 

“It’s also what happens when you get kicked in the stomach by a 13-year-old,” Klaus quipped. At least Five had the decency to look slightly guilty.

“You’ve punched me in the mouth before,” he pointed out. “I was doing what had to be done.” Klaus’ jaw dropped. He was right, of course—they’d needed to stage a fight and Five had seemed more than happy to start one, apparently as payback. 

“You kicked me WAY harder than I hit you!” he argued, instantly regretting the exclamation when it made his stomach flip.

“You hit him in the face?” Luther questioned sanctimoniously, as if he had any space to talk about how siblings should treat one another. Klaus didn’t trust himself to open his mouth to answer and was grateful when Five told the story. Though Luther didn’t find much of it funny, Klaus could tell that if Diego was biting down hard on a mocking smile. It reminded him of how things had been when they’d all lived in the same house, when they’d been close enough to be at one another's throats all the time. Those times had been some of the worst of his life, but despite that, he genuinely missed them. 

After a while longer walking, falling further and further behind as he felt dizzier and more nauseated, Klaus felt his stomach flip again. His mouth turned coppery and he swallowed a few times compulsively before ducking into an alley. He staggered a few steps, blindly, feeling the edge of the dumpster more than he saw it and grasping it like his life depended on it as he doubled over and threw up on the ground. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this, not by a long shot, but it was the first time he’d ever done it sober, and it was certainly the first time that someone was there to catch him when he stumbled backward. 

“Klaus,” Luther called, his voice not quite concerned but not quite angry. 

“That’s m’name, Klaus muttered, a thin, wan impression of his normal trill. 

“You’re not drunk or high,” Five said. It wasn’t a question; it was a fact, one which all of them knew because they’d been with him all day and he’d been talking to ghosts all day. Klaus shook his head, shrugged—he wasn’t, of course, but he also didn’t know why he felt so sick. He hadn’t expected to feel GREAT after getting socked in the gut, but this, in his opinion, was a little excessive. He pushed off Luther because his grip was too tight and quickly found that he wasn’t steady enough to hold himself upright on his own. Surprisingly, Five shoved him in the other direction so he could right himself and didn’t take his small hands off him because he was still swaying. 

“What’s wrong?” Diego demanded, getting right up in Klaus’ face and holding him up by the shoulders when he sagged forward.

“Dizzy,” he replied, “sick. Dunno.” He leaned forward and gagged a few more times, and to his credit, Diego was kind enough to just angle him away from his shoes rather than dropping him completely. 

“Shit,” Luther cursed as Klaus spit up a few more mouthfuls of what looked like coffee grounds. “We need to get him home and to the infirmary.” 

Five frowned. His brothers, all except Klaus, were serious people, but it wasn’t often that he heard Luther worry. 

“What’s going on?” he demanded. Luther scooped Klaus up under the legs and carried him in much the same way he’d carried Five home piss-drunk just two nights ago, though he barely remembered that. 

“He just threw up blood,” Luther explained. Five’s heart sank even though he tried his best not to show that on his face. He’d really kicked him that hard? He owed him an apology. Klaus hadn’t been being dramatic—if anything, he was understating it. Five wondered why Klaus hadn’t said anything about it, but deep down, he knew why. They wouldn’t have believed him. They’d have told him to stop whining or worse, accused him of lying to try to get drugs. In a family where no one held anything back when they spoke, you had to learn to get careful what you asked. If Klaus didn’t want to hear his siblings doubt his sobriety again, he had to give them no reason to bring it up, and he’d been walking on those eggshells for days now. 

“I didn’t mean to kick him that hard,” Five disclaimed. He could feel that his face had gone pale as he now jogged to keep up with his brothers’ urgent pace. “I didn’t mean to kick you that hard,” he repeated, this time to Klaus, who had dragged his unfocused eyes up to attempt to meet Five’s.

“I know, buddy,” he reassured. “Accidents happen.” 

Klaus always had been forgiving, if nothing else. They joked that it was because he was always too high to hold a grudge, but when they looked at his relationship with their father, they all knew deep down that wasn’t true. He tried to keep his relationships positive. It wasn’t that he always made good choices or that he worked hard to not bother anyone, but he ignored a lot of shit from his siblings and didn’t pick fights. Maybe it was because he didn’t really need another angry spirit haunting him; maybe it was because he just needed some friendly faces in the midst of all the screaming ones. Whichever he wanted to believe, it wasn’t important right now, anyway. 

Luther and Deigo wrestled Klaus into the back seat of the car while Five hopped in the other side. The fighting for who would drive was impressively minimal before the car started up and Luther pulled out of their parking spot on the side of the street. Klaus made an effort to sit up straight for a moment, but the pain in his abdomen tugged him down until he was doubled over onto his own knees. 

“Nauseous again?” Five asked, hoping he sounded concerned rather than disgusted. Thankfully, Klaus shook his head. 

“Just too tired to sit up,” he replied. Five shifted awkwardly in his seat, knowing that the one thing that would make Klaus feel better, because he was Klaus, was the one thing he wanted to do the least, because he was Five. Still, as the person who broke him, he felt slightly obligated. More harshly than he intended to, which elicited a small whimper from Klaus at which he winced sympathetically, Five pulled Klaus’ head into his lap so he could lie down. Immediately, he drew his knees close to his chest. Though he didn’t say anything, Five could see that his face relaxed a little, which made him feel at least a little less like he’d been alone for thirty years with no one to comfort but a mannequin and his own sorrows, which he typically drowned in alcohol, anyway. He drew the line at stroking his hair or rubbing his back or any of the nice things that Grace would have done for them as kids, but Klaus didn’t seem to need it to drift off to sleep in the back seat until they could carry him down to the infirmary where Grace and Pogo could fix him up again. 


End file.
